A Savage Garden
by Skyraptor66
Summary: My attempt at a BK fairytale and a bit of a satire. For Xelha, with love.


"A Savage Garden"

_This was written using a rather simplistic style in order to mimic the voices of other children's stories and to give you the sense that the story is not merely being read, but told to you. (Perhaps by Barnette or one of the witches—I don't know.) Enjoy if you can. Whether it sucks or not, I had a total blast writing it._

"A Savage Garden"

"_I'll tell you a story of a wounded wolf…"_

_--_The Company of Wolves _(film)_

_For Xelha._

It was said by no one of any importance that a girl with a name not worth mentioning lived with her grandmother in a small home nestled within the outskirts Celebrai. She was rather plain looking compared to the other girls in the village, and, though she read voraciously, it hadn't made her the least bit imaginative; the words would slip in one ear, only to be regurgitated out the other as her mind gobbled them from their pages. Perhaps this was what made her seem so naïve and, on the whole, rather dull, even to the placid and unassuming villagers of the farming hamlet.

The girl's brother was a quick-minded adventurer and not at all like his sister. At the age of five he ventured alone into a military outpost at Pherkad and demanded that the soldiers let him join their ranks. When the Imperials laughed at him, he defeated every one of them single-handedly with a child's sporting stick. Not long after, he slew the Lord's ferocious guard dog, braved a tempestuous whirlwind while sailing to Sheliak, served under the crest of Diadem's king as one of his elite knights, outsmarted a sphinx in Mira, and became known far and wide as a warrior of great courage and wit.

"See that statue of a head with the snakes sticking out of it?" their grandmother told her visitors, "My grandson brought that home with him from Mira; he did. It's horrid-looking thing, but at least it keeps the mice away."

"Where's big brother now, grandma?" the girl asked. She sat at the window in the far corner of the house as she always did, a volume spread like a pair of jaws in her lap.

"Oh, he mentioned something about seeing your father's ghost or something," her grandmother said, "Apparently, your uncle poisoned him and now your brother's off to avenge him."

"Oh," the girl said, and went back to reading.

Just behind their home lay Moonguile Forest. The mossy trees feigned ferocity as butterflies settled on their branches and the rock cats groomed themselves beneath the shade of their gnarled boughs. Nonetheless, the girl rarely ventured into it any further than what could be seen from the back window of the house.

"There are unuks and shawras that would kill me and drink my blood if they caught me far from home," said the girl, putting on her most mature and matter-of-fact face; deeply proud of what little wisdom she possessed.

"Never mind the unuks and shawras," her grandmother snorted, "The wolves are the worst of all. They've been creeping around our villages since before the Wicked God came and sucked up the Ocean, and then they stole our magic so they could follow us into the skies, the crafty things! They won't just kill you and drink your blood; they'll eat your soul too, and then you'll never join your mother in heaven."

"How do I know I'll go to heaven anyways?" the girl said, "I've never done anything good or bad—I've hardly done anything at all. What if I never die because the Gods don't have a place to put me?"

"Anything's better than being trapped in the belly of a wolf, my dear," said her grandmother. "Even being stuck here for an eternity."

--

Now it just so happened that the villagers held their harvest festival in the early autumn when the leaves had not yet dropped from their branches, but lingered; weak and reddened and hopelessly defiant. The girl disliked festivals, as she had no friends or enemies to talk to anyways, so she spent the evening at home with her book while her grandmother visited a friend in Pherkad.

"I wish they would be quieter," the girl said as she peered out the window. Music and laughter echoed from the village as lights and quivering shadows writhed in the distance. "I can't read with all the racket they're making. I suppose I'll have to go somewhere else."

She fetched a lantern before going out, and made sure to lock the door behind her as she went. Then she walked into the forest with her book tucked under her arm and the lantern held high. She kept on walking, until the sounds of the festival were swallowed by the trees.

"Finally," the girl sighed, feeling rather clever in spite of having just failed to heed her own advice.

She chose a rotted log on which to put her lantern and settled down beside it with her book in a cushion of dead leaves. Halfway through the first sentence, a soft voice from above caught her ear.

"What was that?" she called as she looked up into the branches above her.

Perched on the limb above her ear was a reddish tabby cat. His fur blended so well with the red leaves that she could only see the glittering yellow of his eyes and his white, toothy grin.

"I said 'How are you this evening?'" the cat replied. His voice was friendly, if not betraying a hint of shyness, and any fear the girl might have felt vanished.

"I'm fine, thank you," the girl said, remembering her manners. "I'm just trying to read my book; the village was too loud for me."

"Whatever made you choose here?" said the cat. "There are monsters about, and they tend to come out when it's dark like this."

"I guess I forgot." The girl blushed. "I'm told I'm not very smart."

"Common sense has nothing to do with brains," the cat told her gently. "Just the other day I was off to see my old nurse and the next thing I knew, I was here; and nobody with common sense would find themselves here if they could help it."

"Where are you from?" the girl asked. She was beginning to like the cat, even if what he said bewildered her a little.

"A different plane of logic," replied the cat. "I used to be mad there—being mad is what we consider normal where I'm from, and it keeps us from getting confused, which is the worst possible thing that can happen to you in our opinion. But now I'm not sure if I'm mad or confused or both at the same time."

"Neither am I," said the girl breathlessly.

"Well then I would say that that makes us friends," said the cat, his grin widening. "And, as a secret between friends, I actually rather like it here. My brother always told me I never had any common sense anyways."

"Is your brother a cat too?" asked the girl.

"No; he's a hound, and so is my sister." The cat sighed. "They like to bite my tail when they get the chance, so I'm glad to be away from them. There are a lot of hounds where I'm from."

"Well, there are only fluffpups here, and they would be too small to reach you all the way up there," said the girl. "Oh, but there's also wolves too. Have you heard of the wolves?"

"Yes," said the tabby, "Where I'm from, the hounds like to eat them."

"I guess they're not as fierce as grandma said they were," the girl said thoughtfully.

"Sometimes it depends, but I can't really say that I've known many," said the cat, "The hounds usually kill them if they can find them, although I did see one just a few moments ago." The cat gestured with his paw toward the heart of the forest. "He wore a mask, but I knew he was a wolf because he limped on all fours."

"Poor thing. He sounds like he needs someone to help him," the girl thought aloud.

The cat's white grin vanished, and his eyes grew wide with alarm.

"I wouldn't do that," he said, "They say the wolves with masks and the wolves with wounds are the worst kinds. I'd hate to know what one with both is like."

"I'll follow him quietly then," the foolish girl replied, "He can't swallow my soul if he doesn't even know that I'm there in the first place. I just want to make sure he isn't suffering; that sounds fair, doesn't it?"

The cat gave her a soft smile in spite of himself. "If there is any question as to whether you are confused or mad, then I must tell you that you are certainly mad."

"Um, thank you," the girl said, and then she picked up her lantern and set off further into the forest.

After a few minutes of walking, the girl could hear the sound of trickling water coming through the bushes.

"There must be river nearby," thought the girl. She pushed through the undergrowth and, indeed, she saw a river which had grown thin with the dry season. At its bank was a large black wolf.

The girl gasped and quickly hid as the wolf looked in her direction. He wore a colorful mask, like those jesters wore at the carnival, and he looked rather comical as it barely fit over his pointed muzzle.

"Who's there?" growled the wolf. "Are you the huntsman come back to finish me too? Come out, you coward! I'll tear your hide to bits after what you did to my brother!"

The wolf began to creep toward the bushes, his teeth bared and bloody. The girl, fearing for her life and her soul, stood up so that the wolf could see her.

"Stop! I'm no huntsman!" she cried, "Please don't hurt me!"

The wolf halted and looked slightly bewildered at the sight of her.

"A girl?" he snorted, "Are you stupid or something? What are you doing here?"

"I heard from a cat that you had a limp, so I came to see if I could help you," the girl explained.

"Help me? If it weren't for this limp I would have gobbled you up by now, huntsman or not," said the wolf, "Besides, there's nothing you could do—I was born like this."

He padded around in a circle as if to prove it, but the girl saw no fault in his step.

"Which paw is it?" she asked, "You look fine to me."

"You are a fool," growled the wolf, "Now leave here before I kill you. There's a huntsman wearing a red cloak who killed my family and I can't hunt him down before morning with you distracting me. Get out or I'll have your blood on my teeth too."

The girl imagined that the wolf was baring its reddened fangs at her, but it was difficult to tell when his face was half-concealed by the mask.

"If you don't mind me asking, wolf," the girl said as politely as she could, "Why do you wear that?"

"Wear what?" the wolf snapped, "I'm through talking to you. Stay out of my sight." And with that, he loped off into the trees.

Once he was gone, the girl sighed and sat down by the river bank where the wolf had been moments before. "He seemed so upset," she said to herself, "He must have really loved his family; and how odd it is that he wears that mask and doesn't even notice it."

She stared at the river for some time and thought about the wolf until she noticed that a large green fish was staring back at her.

"Is everything alright up there?" asked the fish.

"I'm not sure," replied the girl, "There was an odd wolf here just a moment ago and he said that he's going to kill me if I don't leave the forest."

"Pshaw, wolves aren't so bad. I knew a wolf once, but she decided to become a fish after we had talked for a while, and now we're the best of friends." The fish wiggled his fins happily as bubbles streamed from his mouth.

"Did she have a mask and a limp too?" asked the girl, "This one did, and a cat told me that those kinds are the worst."

"No," said the fish, "She didn't, actually. But she wasn't very sociable at first either."

"Well, I wanted to help this wolf, but he wouldn't let me. Do you know how I can get him to trust me?"

"One with a mask? I'm not sure about that. Ask a bird—they're a bit knocked in the head, but they could probably tell you." The fish said, "Birds are close relatives of fish anyways, so they have to have some good sense."

"Birds and fish can't be related!" exclaimed the girl, "Birds have feathers and lungs, and fish have scales and gills."

"Yes, but neither of us are related to humans and that's all that matters," replied the fish. "Oh look, there's one now. Go talk to her, and be sure to listen closely to what she says. Sometimes you almost have to be mad to understand them."

The girl looked in the direction the fish had pointed its fin and spotted a small multicolored bird among the branches. The bird peered down at her with black eyes. A worm hung from her yellow beak like a tongue.

"Um, good evening," said the girl, "Do you know anything about wolves with masks and lame paws?"

"Yes. That one you speak of be quite abandoned," chirped the bird, "This bird doesn't know how you be planning to bear him."

"Well, the fish I just spoke to said that wolves can be changed," offered the girl.

"Change be alienation," replied the bird, "One cannot become what one never was. Other wolf must have always been a fish."

"But what if he really is something else, then? That means I can change him."

"It would be an adulterate to him," said the bird in a matter-of-fact tone. "This bird be watching him. He no longer be agape now hunter has killed his brother. He knows what he be and that he cannot change it."

"Maybe if he thinks he has killed the huntsman, he'll feel better," said the girl. "And then he would like being a wolf now that he thinks no one is going to hurt him for it. That would work, wouldn't it?" She looked up at the bird and the bird looked silently back. She could hear the fish splashing in the river behind her.

"I'll do that then," she said when the bird did not answer her, "I just need a red cloak and some feathers, and then I'll look just like the huntsman."

"Are you really that foolish?" piped the fish, "He'll kill you whether you disguise yourself or not."

"I'll fill part of the cloak with sticks so that when the wolf attacks I'll throw it off and he'll think he's snapping the huntsman's bones," said the girl, "And then I'll run back home before he notices and he'll never see me again."

"It still be foolish," said the bird, "You must truly be mad, insane, absolutely bonkers, but this bird be helping you."

The bird shook herself and a few bright blue feathers drifted down into the girl's hands.

"Here," said the cat, who had been crouched, half-invisible, in the trees through the whole conversation. "Tie the ends of these red leaves together to make the cloak. The wolf probably can't see very well through his mask, so I doubt he'll know the difference."

"My friend and I will gather what sticks we can find lying in the river," said the fish somewhat reluctantly.

Within minutes, the cloak was ready. The girl thanked her friends and hefted the stick-filled makeshift cloak onto her back.

"Good luck," purred the cat with a worried smile, "I hope we can see you again sometime."

"I hope so too," said the girl as she left the river and ventured into the trees.

The girl walked for a very long time. The cloak began to fall apart as the red leaves snagged on branches and the sticks fell out from beneath it.

"I hope I find him soon," thought the girl. The sun had already begun to peek over the horizon.

Suddenly, as the girl was rounding a tree, she heard a low growl. She turned about to see the wolf crouched beside a bush.

"I'll break you neck, you murderer!" the wolf snarled.

He leapt at her, his jaws closing down on her arm before she could run. The girl screamed; a high, piercing sound that caught the wolf off guard.

"You--!" he barked in astonishment.

The girl crawled away from the ruined cloak and cradled her bloody arm.

"What do you think this is?" said the wolf, "How dare you trick me! You should be dead!"

The girl sobbed against the side of a tree. The brown bark dirtied her face, which was already red with her own blood. The wolf tried to approach her, but she snarled and kicked at him.

"You don't have limp, you stupid wolf!" she cried, "You're as much a fool as I am and I don't care if you eat my soul anymore!"

She kicked at him again. This time, her foot caught him full in the muzzle and the mask shattered into bits of plaster. The wolf didn't notice, but stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Hey now," the wolf said, his voice a little softer, "You were the one who tried to get yourself killed. I won't eat you."

Now that his mask was gone, the wolf was looking at her oddly. He lowered himself onto his belly and crept forward with his ears flattened like an apologetic puppy. The girl stopped kicking and watched as he began to lick the wound on her arm. The bloody skin tore off bit by bit as he licked it, and once he had finished with her arm, he started with her shoulders, tearing the cloth that covered them with his teeth before setting to work with his tongue. Beneath the torn human skin sprouted grey fur that glistened as it emerged with the light from the morning sun.

When he was finished, the girl yawned, her muzzle crinkling to reveal her sharp, white fangs. Then, tired from the sleepless night, she laid her head on the wolf's ruff and fell asleep between his paws.

--

Months later, when their uncle was safely dead, the brother returned to find his grandmother alone.

"Where is my sister?" he asked the old woman.

"Probably with some man, or sleeping with the rock cats in the forest," replied the grandmother, "I wouldn't put it past her—she was always a little strange."

Indeed, the villagers never spoke too much of her when they heard the news, even when a book marked by dirty paw prints and dented by long teeth was found at the grandmother's doorstep. They all agreed that only a girl so mad could have ever been that dull.

The forest remained quiet as usual.

--

_Yep, that's about it. I'm a failure, but who cares? If anyone can name all of the mythological and folkloric references in this story, including the brother's, I will hug you (telepathically)._

_I was going to leave the double meanings of some of the words the bird uses up to you guys to figure out, but I guess I'll save you the trouble anyways, as some of the alternate meanings are a bit obscure. _

_Abandoned—given up or irreclaimably wicked_

_Bear—to carry, to put up with, or to give birth to (as in create)_

_Alienation—estrangement or mental derangement_

_Adulterate—to make impure or a substance that has been made impure_

_Agape—to be open wide (like a mouth) as if in astonishment and confusion or unconditional, platonic love_

_Now review, or I'll feed Lyude to the hounds._


End file.
